Life of Secrets, Page 2

CHAPTER ONE | FLASHBACK

  Two teenagers walked across the grass at an expensive east coast prep school, both wearing tan slacks and blue shirts. It was their last day of class before spring break, and a touch football game had broken out in the quad among the other students. The ball got knocked out of bounds. It bounced and tumbled off the grass until it wobbled to rest at the feet of the boy and girl walking past.

  The girl reached down, picked up the ball, and shot a perfect spiral right back at the quarterback, who caught it and grinned. He called, "You wanna play, Alyssa? We’re losing; we could use you!"

  She shook her head, waved, smiled, and went back to her conversation.

  "Obviously the gossip hasn’t gotten to them yet, or they wouldn’t be inviting me to play," she said.

  She was short, black-haired, and beautiful; she pouted as she talked. With her was a slender boy, with wavy brown hair and an angular face. His hands were stuffed in his pockets as he walked. His blue shirt was like hers – nice fabric with the school crest on the pocket. But his tan slacks fit poorly and the frayed cuffs dragged on the ground. His name was Matt Barr, and he said, "You shouldn’t have done it, Alyssa."

  "Of course I shouldn’t have done it, but it’s like I was seeing red. I got so mad I just didn’t think. Don’t tell me I shouldn’t have done it; that’s obvious."

  "Is your father going to kill you?"

  "My father is a minor consideration at best. He barely knows he has a daughter, let alone when she gets into trouble. My sensei, on the other hand, is going to mess up my whole life when he hears. You don’t use martial arts training to beat the daylights out of someone just because they got your goat."

  "You shouldn’t have…" the boy cut off in mid-sentence when the girl gave him a look that suggested she might not be finished beating the daylights out of people.

  "He should never have said I was your girlfriend," she muttered.

  Matt said nothing, which was wise. It made him feel good when people thought he and Alyssa were together. She knew that about him. If he tried to agree with her that the boy shouldn’t have said that, she would know he was lying to patronize her. But if he said what he really felt, it would just make her angry.

  "They were picking on you, and I didn’t like it. I don’t like to see bullies pick on people."

  Matt shrugged. Being defended by a girl wasn’t exactly going to do him any good with the boys.

  "And then he had to go and say, ‘Oh look, is your girlfriend going to protect you?’ It was like my head exploded. I wasn’t thinking."

  "It’s funny how often you and I have this conversation, Alyssa. You’ve got to do something about your temper."

  "I’ll tell you what makes my temper better is touching someone’s nose with my fist if they’re being a jerk."

  "Indulging your temper isn’t the same thing as learning to get it under control."

  The teen girl rolled her eyes at her friend.

  "My mother wanted me to be strong. That was her dying wish for me. Her very last words."

  The boy touched her shoulder lightly.

  "I remember her."

  She continued, "Strong is standing up for yourself. Strong is standing up for your friends. Strong isn’t wimping out when a bully is picking on your friend."

  Matt said, "Well, if my father hears about it, he’ll chew me up one side and down the other. You know how Reverend Barr is about living by the rules. Don’t be violent, don’t be a trouble maker, and don’t waste your time with that rebellious Chambers girl."

  She shrugged. "Your father thinks the same thing about you and me that those boys thought."

  "It’s all he thinks about. Wanting to make sure I don’t ‘get into trouble’ with a girl. Any girl, it’s not just you."

  Alyssa snorted. "You won’t be getting into trouble with me."

  Matt sighed. "Thanks. My dad will be glad to hear it."

  She said, "At least your father knows you exist. Mine barely knows he has a daughter."

  ♦

  Later that night, home for break, Alyssa moped in her spacious bedroom, barely even seeing the canopied four-poster bed or the original artwork that hung on her walls. She'd donned her gi and stretched, ready to work through some of the forms she’d need for her upcoming black belt test.

  The punches and kicks were a good way to work through her frustration. Coming home had been very disappointing so far.

  Somehow, she had hoped things would change. Every few months when she came home from school, she kept hoping things would change. They never did.

  High block. Low block. Punch-punch-punch.

  She had been gone since Christmas. This was her father’s first chance to see her in months.

  And he was in the den talking politics with a client. Alyssa felt hot tears of resentment welling up in her eyes. He won't even say anything about missing me!

  Front kick. Side kick. Side kick.

  The exercise was really just anger management. Punching felt good, but she didn’t need the practice: she already knew the belt was hers, even after the stern lecture she'd gotten from Sensei about the evils of aggression.

  The belt was already hers. Graduation was already hers. Being valedictorian was already hers. Admission to the college of her choice was already hers. What Alyssa wanted was a challenge.

  She had tried gymnastics and could have gone to the Olympics if she'd stuck with it. She had tried martial arts. She had tried competitive shooting, just because it made her father nervous. But none of them had been hard for her.

  Taking the easy way was not what strong people did, but Alyssa couldn't find the hard way.

  She'd long ago rejected the idea of student body government as a possibility. It was too much of a popularity contest to be challenging for her and besides, it felt too much like doing exactly what her father wanted. Student council was like training for politics, after all.

  Alyssa sighed. There was nothing. Nothing. Well, college would bring new opportunities. All she had to do was choose between Harvard, Yale, Princeton, or studying abroad at Oxford. The invitations from each were in her desk drawer, along with numerous others from "lesser" schools. She'd been so desperate last fall she even tried to set a world record for most acceptance letters from elite colleges, only to discover that Guinness didn't offer such a category.

  Still in her workout clothes she left her bedroom, headed down the hall, down two flights of stairs, and then to the front door. Maybe some fresh air would bring fresh ideas.

  On the way, she heard her father talking with someone in the living room.

  She paused for a moment to listen: politics, of course. Always politics. She heard him saying, “The problem is, I don’t have a lever on him yet. I want to get one, but right now I have no way to influence him.”

  She shook her head. As if anything ever really changes! But to her father, politics was everything. It had been more important than his wife. It was certainly more important than a daughter. Rolling her eyes, she went outside to walk around and think.

  The car in the drive must be her father's visitor’s, since nobody in this house would ever be caught dead in a Hyundai. She looked in the window and saw that the keys had been left in it. Just her luck: even stealing a car would be too easy.

  She thought about her father inside. H. Franklin Chambers was the senior partner at the ancient law firm of Chambers and Weathering. Senators consulted them. They didn’t just argue before the Supreme Court, they prepared future Justices for their confirmation hearings. Presidents sought their counsel. But Chambers and Weathering partners never left the firm to take low-paying jobs in the cabinet or any such thing. They simply advised, and they shaped history from behind the scenes.

  He had wanted a son, of course. Of course! He had wanted H. Franklin Chambers VI, to carry on the name, practice law, advise some future President, etc. A girl hadn’t been part of the plan. Alyssa hadn’t been part of the plan.

  Just as she felt the old familiar anger r
ising over her father’s desire for a different child, the front door opened, and the visitor came out, frowning. ‘Things must not have gone well with H. Franklin,’ she thought. She wandered over to see what she could find out.

  The visitor turned out to be George Pierce. She'd met him a few times at social functions: a client of Chambers and Weathering, who was involved in politics and used the firm's services mostly in that regard. He walked with short strides, looking down at his feet, hands in his pockets. His blue blazer looked like it came off the rack at Wal-Mart, and if his shoes had ever been shined, it had been a long time ago. His thin nose and scrawny build made him look a little taller than he truly was.

  "Good evening, Mr. Pierce," she called out.

  The man started, looked over at her, and started again.

  "Alyssa! I didn't know you were out here. I'm sorry." He looked a bit discomfited.

  "What’s going on? What were you here to see Father about?"

  He looked like he might try to deny her the information, so Alyssa pouted and widened her eyes to stare up at him. It worked like it always did.

  "Well, it's this campaign I'm working on. You know, Lance Reeder, running for re-election to the House?"

  Alyssa nodded. "Of course. He's been in Congress since I was a little girl."

  "Well, until now. We're in serious trouble – like, I-need-a-new-job kind of trouble. I hoped maybe your father might be able to do something, but it looks like not."

  Something H. Franklin can't help with? All of a sudden, Alyssa was interested – very interested. If there was one human being alive who had a harder time finding challenges or limits than she did, it was her father. If he couldn't do it...

  "What kind of trouble?"

  Pierce sighed. "Well, it’s all coming out in the papers tomorrow or the next day, so I guess telling you can’t really change anything. My boss… well, he’s got this beautiful antique Swiss watch. It was hand-made more than a hundred years ago. It came to him from his father and to him from his father… etc. Normally, of course, it sits in a locked jewelry case in his home. It’s one of a kind. There’s nothing like it anywhere else in the world."

  Alyssa nodded. "We have stuff like that in our family, too."

  Pierce went on as if he hadn’t heard her. “Well, the other day we had a fundraiser with the Speaker of the House coming in to campaign for us. It was a seriously big deal. Everyone there was writing $15,000 checks just to get in. Some of the richest people in the state were there. So of course, Lance decides to wear his one of a kind – completely unique – heirloom watch.”

  Alyssa whistled. "This doesn’t sound like it ends well."

  Pierce nodded. "Yeah exactly. He left it behind. In the bedroom. Of someone else’s wife."

  Alyssa grimaced and looked away. "Ugh."

  "Exactly. So, naturally, his lady friend’s angry husband has given the watch to the campaign of our opponent in the primary election. And even if it wasn’t completely unique, we hear they’ve found Lance’s fingerprints on it."

  Alyssa raised her eyebrows. "And Dad can't do anything about that? Every politician in this state owes him enough favors to dance when he plays a tune. How come he can't fix it?"

  “Every politician but this one. Ken Wells. Outsider, you know. Running against the establishment, give politics back to the people, blah blah blah. He's from outside the system; no one has a hook into him. Your father told me he knew without asking that Wells wouldn't listen to him.”

  Alyssa fell silent for a moment, thinking about that. She never bothered to learn too much about her father's business, but she was surprised that this Wells fellow was so independent of him. The elder Chambers had managed to do favors for almost everyone. Finding someone who didn't owe him was a rare occasion indeed.

  While she was thinking, Pierce mused, almost as if to himself. "This is going to be the end of this campaign, and put Wells in office. Gonna be a rough time in politics until we can get him back out. I'd give anything to have that watch back."

  Alyssa eyed him. After a pause, she repeated, "Anything?"

  Pierce's head snapped over to stare at her. "Alyssa, what are you hinting at?'

  "Nothing, nothing, just thinking..."

  He stared harder. “Don't do anything rash. If I got you into trouble, your father would serve my butt cheeks at a soup kitchen and call it charity work. And even if Wells is going to put the establishment out of power for a while, your father will still find a way to be the kingmaker around here. Which would mean my making him mad is not going to happen while I have a say in it. So forget I said anything. I never should have in the first place.”

  Alyssa smiled at him. "Of course, George. I don't really care about politics anyway."

  He smiled at her, said something about leaving before he got into more trouble, and waved goodbye as he got into his Hyundai.

  As soon as the car rolled out of sight, she hurried back inside to her bedroom. She sat down at the computer, tapped for the Internet and soon was browsing through old newspaper articles about the Wells campaign.

  Wells was a former bookshop owner... blah blah blah... not important... He hired a veteran campaign manager... blah blah blah, not important either, but a bit hypocritical for someone supposedly so beyond the system. She thought, Hmm, this is interesting... In addition to the campaign manager, this Wells fellow had one campaign staffer named Fred Harris who had been a private investigator. Hmm… private investigator, gathering fingerprints… maybe…

  The internet yielded his home address and left Alyssa sitting there trying to make a decision.

  She wondered, Do I really want to do this?

  All her thoughts of what might pose a challenge had previously had one thing in common: they were all within the law. This, though... she was thinking about breaking and entering.

  Well, she certainly knew where to find a good lawyer if she got caught.

  Alyssa stood up from the computer and changed clothes. She picked out a black turtleneck and black jeans. She'd never really studied or thought about hiding and concealment, but black seemed the obvious choice at night. She found socks and gym shoes of the same color.

  Dressed, she stopped and thought again. You're going to become a criminal. You're going to leave the bounds of polite society. You're...

  You're going to do something even your father couldn't get done.

  With that thought, she padded down the hall and back down the steps, pausing for a moment in the hallway until the butler wandered out of the way. Then she was out the front door.

  It was eleven o'clock at night, and at this time of year the sun had only recently gone down. She had six hours of night to get this done.

  I'll just drive over there, she thought. If there's any risk of getting caught, I don't have to do anything. If it looks too hard, I can just drive home.

  She laughed to herself as she eased into her Porsche. Aloud she said, "Ha! If it looks hard, no way I'm leaving without that watch!" She put it in neutral to roll backwards out of the drive without starting the engine where her father might hear.

  She parked several blocks away from the scene of her intended crime and walked the rest of the way.

  Harris lived in a two-story townhouse that spoke of middle class respectability in a city that drove most of the middle class out to the suburbs. There was no such thing as a front yard, just a front step leading up to the door from the sidewalk. She strolled casually past, taking note of the light in the front window, and the silhouettes of people talking behind the curtains.

  She thought, Not just breaking and entering then. I'll be breaking and entering an occupied house. I think I found my challenge.

  She went around the corner, entered the alley and then counted the houses until she reached the back side of Harris’s place.

  The back gate was locked, but the wood fence was only six feet high. The former world-class gymnast vaulted over that in less time than it would have taken her to go through the normal way.
br />   The back door was locked, too. However, on the second floor there was a tall French window that had curtains blowing through its open frame, and a tiny, narrow balcony outside it.

  And there was a tree.

  Alyssa grabbed a low branch and swung up into the tree. From there it was easy to climb a short distance and then hop onto the balcony.

  That's when her heart began to race.

  Now it was real. The window was open, and she was right in front of it. With two more steps, she would be in violation of the law and on her way to breaking it even further by stealing something. And not just anything, either. She was about to steal something that would change the course of an election for U.S. Congress.

  For a long moment, Alyssa was frozen there on the balcony, not so much afraid as she was awed by what she was doing.

  Then she stepped into the house.

  Alyssa tiptoed across the floor of the bedroom she found herself in. A fast but very thorough search yielded no incriminating watch.

  She listened carefully at the door and heard only distant voices. She stayed there, ear pressed to the wood, for five minutes. It stayed quiet so she opened the door.

  As it turned out, the door opened onto a stairway landing. She could see down the stairs to a brightly lit open entryway to the living room, from whence the voices came.

  "...you've won the campaign for me, after all. After tomorrow..."

  Alyssa arched her eyebrows. That must be Mr. Wells talking. And by the sound of it, she was here none too soon.

  She set her foot on the first step, as gently as possible. It didn't creak, so she gave it her full 109 pounds and tried the second one. Still no creak, but the sound of the conversation in the living room was driving her heart rate wild. All it would take would be for one of them to get the urge to go to the bathroom...

  At the bottom of the stairs, she found herself trapped. To step onto the landing would put her in full view of the living room. Maybe the people in there wouldn't be looking her way, but then, maybe they would. And given what would happen to her cushy life if she got caught here, Alyssa wasn't inclined to leave that to chance.

  She stood there, completely still, afraid even to breathe while she tried to think of a way out. Finally, she sneaked back up the staircase.

  But she only went halfway.

  There, she stopped to slip off her sneakers. Holding them tightly, she jumped over the railing and let herself fall the few feet down to the hardwood floor below. Her stocking-clad feet made no sound when they hit, and the grace of her landing made her proud.

  "It’s downstairs for safe keeping."

  Well, that was a convenient thing to overhear. Now all she had to do was find her way downstairs.

  Just to be sure, she followed the hallway down to the kitchen. She rifled it as thoroughly as she could without making noise but, again, no watch. She stopped to put her shoes back on. Then she found the stairs to the basement on the far side of the kitchen.

  The basement had two guest bedrooms. The watch was on a bookcase in one. Alyssa simply helped herself to it and headed back upstairs. In the kitchen, she unlocked the back door and casually let herself out, easing it shut behind her.

  On the way back to her car, it was all she could do not to shout to the moon and dance in the street. Now that had been a challenge!

  The following day was hard on her nerves. Half of her wanted to tell every single person she met, and the other half kept expecting the police to walk in on her at any minute. Even when her friend Matt asked her why she was so perky all of a sudden, she managed to keep her mouth shut.

  That afternoon, she walked into the office of the Lance Reeder for Congress Committee, overcame the receptionist's resistance with an offhand mention of her father, and strode blithely into George Pierce's office. She closed the door behind her and locked it. Pierce had one phone pressed to his ear and his cell phone in his hand. He was saying something about not having the slightest idea what the caller was talking about.

  In the course of switching phones, he caught sight of her.

  "Alyssa! What are you doing here? Can it wait for a bit, I'm sort of in the middle of a crisis. The noon TV news reported that the Wells campaign is claiming they had a break in last night, and..."

  "I know."

  It was something about the way she said it. He peered at her, then said "I'll call you back" into both phones simultaneously, and hung them up.

  "What are you talking about, Alyssa?"

  With a Cheshire grin, she passed over the watch. Pierce set it down very slowly, staring at her the whole time. When he finally found his voice, it was only a whisper.

  "What have you done?"

  "I got that watch you wanted."

  "But... but..." His jaw hung open.

  She just grinned back.

  "Alyssa, have any of your history classes covered Watergate?"

  She shrugged. "Of course. The people involved in that got caught."

  "And you won't?"

  "Definitely not. We won't," she said pointedly.

  "We? I had nothing to do..."

  "Well, there are only two of us who know, Mr. Pierce, so not getting caught shouldn't be hard."

  They just stared at each other for a long time. Finally Pierce said, "Why do I have a suspicion that my little slip about 'do anything for that watch’ is going to come back to haunt me?"

  "A hundred thousand bucks. Seems like a good idea if it's cash, completely untraceable. For that, you get to keep the watch and its fingerprints."

  He temporized. "What do you want with a hundred thousand bucks? That's chump change for you, Alyssa. You've probably got a hundred times that just sitting in a trust fund your father's set up for you, let alone how much he has separately from that."

  "I don't want a hundred thousand bucks of my father's money. I want a hundred thousand dollars of my money. Mine. That I earned."

  It had occurred to her the night before: she was a criminal now. And it had thrilled her enough to make her consider a career in it. If she went that way, it would be a good idea to have some money that her father couldn't take away from her.

  "Um, this is a heavily regulated business, Alyssa. Political campaigns can't just write secret checks without people knowing. Everything we spend has to be reported."

  "Pierce, I've never paid much attention to politics, but I read the newspapers enough to know that money moves around like stink through a screen door."

  "I need some time."

  "To get the money?"

  "And to think."

  Pierce delayed, but he did pay up. Alyssa didn’t really know what to do with the money, so she bought a safe and put her ill-gotten gains in her third, unused, walk-in closet.

  Then, just to be safe, she took one of her father's small sailboats out on the Atlantic and, once she was far enough off shore that she couldn't see land, dumped a garbage bag weighted with a cement brick over the side. In it was every piece of clothing she had worn into Harris's house.

  All of her friends and family were stunned later that month when she turned her nose up at Oxford or the Ivy League and announced her intention to go to college in Washington, D.C, but when she explained that she'd developed an interest in politics, her father gave a smug smile.

  The following January, when she and some of her new school friends went down to Capitol Hill to watch the Congressional swearing in, none of the others understood why she grinned so broadly when Lance Reeder took his oath.